Mama, I'm Coming Home
by FiferRose
Summary: Established Eames/Arthur. Each man spends time with his mother, but the conversation never strays far from one another.


**A/N:****  
General:  
-** I think I'm fairly pleased with the way this turned out. Probably would have done well to let it stew for a couple more days, but it was kind of now or never when it came to posting, so, here you have it.**  
**- I have some good news, and I have some bad news. The good news is that I'm moving! :D I'm excited. Scared, of course, but excited. And, I'll have more time for writing! The bad news is that for the next month, I won't have steady internet access, if any access at all. So, this will be** one of my last posts until the very end of November**. Just warning you. But, **don't forget me! ;) **Because I'm gonna be coming back strong! Distraction-free time to catch up on all these runaway ideas FTW!**  
**- This story came about... well, I don't even know how exactly. It started with a line that came from my first ever A/E story, **Heartbreak Warfare**, and progressed from there, aided with my stroke of genius. Huzzah! ;D  
- The song, while not really helpful to read-along with, is amazing. It is: **"Mama, I'm Coming Home" **by **Ozzy Osbourne. **Really, it is **tremendous**! Give it a listen!  
- **Part II **of my **recommendations** below the story. :)

**Warnings:  
**- Nope. Don't think so.

**Disclaimer:  
**- Me? Own Inception or its characters? Pshtt. I think **not**.  
- I guess the characters of Karen and Claire are technically mine, so... GO ME! ;-P  
- Still waiting to find JGL under my bed [by which I mean _in_ my bed]/under my Christmas tree. :'(

**Enjoy, and remember: **_**reviews are love!

* * *

**_

Eames sweeps his mother across the floor of her sunroom. At their beginning of their dance, he found himself lagging behind due to years of built-up injuries and lack of practice. Now, though, as he has loosened up, he pulls out dance moves that have not seen the light of day since he was a small boy. Still, Claire Eames matches him step for step. After all, she is the one that has taught Sean everything he knows, and not merely in the world of ballroom.

"Well, as I've always told you, Sean, do not get on your knees until-"

"Until he has swept me off my feet," he finishes hurriedly. "Yes, Mum, I have learned that lesson quite well, thank you. However, he… Well, he has already done just that, actually." Eames dips the white haired woman gently towards the ground and pauses as the music finishes and their dance is complete.

"What? Gotten on his knees or swept you off your feet? And your frame is falling a bit loose, dear," she adds nonchalantly.

"Bloody hell, Mother," Eames says as he tightens the square of his arms. "No wonder I am such a raging pervert. You're to blame." Eames lifts his mother back to her feet and kisses her on the cheek, smiling.

"Wear it proudly, son. Just because we are English does not mean we have to be square. Look at The Beatles, for example." She pauses for a beat and then asks, "Well then, when do I get to meet this dashing young fellow?" She is not even the slightest bit out of breath after their impromptu ballroom mash-up.

"Never, if you insist on calling him 'this dashing young fellow'," Eames jokingly chides.

"Is sarcasm the only thing you've learned in America?" Claire asks. She breezes past Eames and heads towards the table that holds their tea as she straightens the yellow skirt wrapped around her body.

Eames rolls his eyes at her words as discreetly as possible (_learned habits die hard, Arthur, darling, thank you very much_) before rushing to the table and pulling his mother's chair out for her, just in time for her to sit down upon it. "My apologies to you, my dearest mother. That dashing young fellow does have a name, though, by which you may feel free to call him, but only if you so desire, milady," he says with false grandeur as she settles into the chair.

"That's quite enough out of you, dear," she says dryly. "Now, really, when _exactly_ do I get to meet this Arthur?"

Eames sits in the chair directly across the table and takes a gulp of his tea. He sets the cup back on its saucer, carefully, and then leans back in his seat and stretches his arms above his head. Once his bones have stopped creaking, he rolls his shoulders and then sighs and answers.

"Soon, Mum. However, I must warn you that he is not truly the familial type. Don't expect him to warm up to you right away, and don't take it personally."

"I won't. I am eager to see who has you in such a tizzy, though. Now, is he the same way to his _own_ flesh and blood? Or will this just be a case of introductory jitters?"

"Not really, no. Although, I cannot honestly say I have seen him around his family. He has a younger sister, but he has lost track of her, and his parents are… well, his father is unworthy of the oxygen burned to speak of him, either way."

* * *

"Either way, Mom, it would be completely irrational for me to continue this relationship, wouldn't it? I mean, we could not possibly be more different from one another, and I, for one don't buy that 'opposites attract' nonsense. Opposites clash. There's no point in this if all we are going to do is clash, right?"

They are sitting in opposing chairs, beautiful high-backs upholstered with a flower print that is noticeable, but far from garish. Between them stands a tall, wooden table, upon which stand a vase of vibrant fresh flowers and two half-full cups of steaming coffee.

"No, not necessarily, Arthur. Sometimes a little clashing is a good thing."

"Well, it's more than 'a _little_ clashing', Mom."

"It doesn't really matter, Arthur. Regardless, you love him. You said so yourself. And, maybe he is a little risky, but since when exactly did reason become the ruling factor in love? Times have changed since my day, apparently. I mean, back then, people had these things called feelings. Nasty business if they got hurt, of course, but they usually came in fairly handy," she replies. She is joking, of course, but there is more than an edge of truth in her words. Before Arthur can speak, his mother begins talking again.

"Now, there's something I've been wanting to tell you, and I don't want a reply," she pauses, and Arthur tenses slightly, wondering what she could possibly say. When she does speak, her words are unexpected. "You have to stop _running _from this." Arthur opens his mouth to object, but Karen holds up a hand to stop him. "I said no replies! Arthur, I can see how much you love him. Yet, I keep hearing these excuses from you. '_We clash; we're different_', etcetera. I can see it in your eyes that even _you_ do not believe what you are saying. And don't you dare say a word to deny it."

Arthur smiles and sighs, "You're right. You are completely right. I just… I don't know. I guess I'm just scared to…." He leans forward, elbows resting on knees, and runs a hand down his face.

"You're scared to want him. To _need_ him. And you know it's the truth. So, let's just drop this pretense that you're not sure of how you feel about him, alright? I hate seeing you struggle with it like this."

None of Karen's words is in the form of a question. Arthur simply stares at his mom, impressed. He should not be surprised by this, since she has always been able to put things he has found unfathomable into simple words. Still, for her to get to the root of him, it is an accomplishment. They both know this, and so neither mentions it. The acknowledgement remains unspoken.

"Now. What about this _reason_? This restraint? Why must you insist on being so practical?"

"The world is chaos. I need some way to fight that." Even to his own ears, the words sound cheap and rehearsed. Well, at least he tried.

"I see. And by chaos, I assume you are referring mostly to your Mr. Eames? Even though we just discussed your making excuses?"

"_Mom_," he intones, sounding ever the fifteen year-old boy that is suddenly too old to be kissed goodbye by his mother. He has no issues with her words (they are completely true), but again with the fact that she knows him so well. No one has ever known him so thoroughly, and it scares him that no one else ever will.

"_Arthur_," she mimics, smiling. She is the only one that has never been fooled by Arthur's slightly cool exterior, his mask. He learned it from her, but not in the way she had hoped. Her mask was for the benefit of others. Arthur's was for the benefit of himself. "I'll take that as a yes."

Arthur looks at her for a moment before ducking his head and grinning.

"Okay, yeah. And I'm not making excuses. He isn't the only tornado whirling through my life, but he is the one with the farthest reach," he finally gives in. "He drives me insane on a regular basis, but…. I don't know. I think I would miss the aggravation if ever it ceased," he says the last part carefully and slowly, as though the idea of missing Eames is only now occurring to him. Honestly, it is not the first time he has realized such, but it is the first time he has said as much aloud. To his shock, it is surprisingly easy to say such a thing. Well, to his mother, at least.

"Then don't let it," Karen says, effectively bringing him back to Earth.

"Don't let it what?"

"Cease, silly," she says, rolling her eyes.

"Yeah?"

"Arthur," she begins. She leans forward and reaches across the small coffee table between them, placing a hand on Arthur's face. His eyes fall closed at her touch and he leans into her hand very gently. Her long hair (mostly black, but sprinkled with grey here and there) tumbles over her shoulders and Arthur is suddenly immersed in memory as he recalls the lavender shampoo she used to use. He swears he can smell it in the air now, but her hand moving onto his breaks his reverie before he can be sure whether he is simply imagining the aroma. He opens his eyes to see his mother staring at him curiously.

"Arthur," she repeats, "I honestly have not seen you happier, and happiness is what I've always wished for you. Always. I would fail as a mother if I didn't tell you to grab onto Sean and never let him go."

"You've never failed me, Ma," Arthur says, perhaps a bit less jovially than intended. The sadness in his mother's eyes, the sadness that has only before been hinted at, is now there in full-force. He pretends not to notice, only tightens his grip on her hand as she continues to watch him smile. Their whole relationship always has been made up of actions rather than words and it still is, even now.

* * *

"Even now, Mum? Really? Well, regardless of the fact that I expected her to keel over years ago, I thought you two would have all your passive-aggressive bickering out with by this time. You've been at it for decades, now. As long as I can remember."

"Well, the woman makes her morning drink with a bloody _'Mrs. Tea' _machine, for goodness' sakes. She is a disgrace to all things English."

"Twenty-first century convenience, Mother. She is older than the Queen is and doesn't have nearly as many servants. You should be thankful that you can still make yours the right way. Leave your dear neighbor alone."

Claire huffs. She would obviously much rather harbor a grudge than see reason. Eames pretends not to notice and continues speaking. This is the way his mother has always been, and likely always will be.

"Personally, I am of the opinion that your dislike of her has nothing to do with her brewing methods and everything to do with the fact that you simply envy her thirty-billion grandchildren."

"Thirteen grandchildren," Claire says after a thoughtful pause, and Eames knows he has hit the right spot. He scoffs and sips his tea as she continues, "And two more on the way. Four great-grandchildren, too."

"Bloody hell," Eames replies, trying not to choke on his drink. "That's enough to start a school."

His mother stares at him as though waiting for him to say more, a sad look in her eyes. She tilts her head slightly and her full bottom lip protrudes minutely.

"Oh, no. Do not even _think_ of it, Mother."

"What, Sean?" she asks, dripping with innocence.

He simply stares at her with an upraised eyebrow until she breaks down and sighs wearily.

"Don't try to make me feel guilty, either. It will _not_ work. Now, if you will remember, it is still biologically impossible for two men to reproduce. Not that we've stopped trying, but still…." He takes a sip of his tea and ignores the way his mother is still staring at him.

"There's always surrogacy, love. And adoption!"

"You're absolutely right. I will drive you to the agency right now, and you can adopt as many children as you would like. Just let me grab my coat," Eames says as he stands. The look in his mother's eyes stills him shortly before he sits back down.

Claire is silent for a moment before saying, "Oh, you're always so stubborn."

Eames jaw drops slightly as the woman picks up her teacup and sips from it as she turns to look out the window of the sunroom. He stutters a moment, looking for the right words and trying to force them out.

"_I'm _stubborn? _I_- You know what? Never mind…. Mum, I have only just snagged Arthur. He is very nearly still in denial over even acknowledging my presence. The only time he has said anything kind to me outright was when he was pissed out of his mind, and even then, I sensed a hint of sarcasm. I doubt asking him to become a father is the right way to proceed in this situation."

"Alright, alright. I guess an old woman can dream…." she sighs with a wistful tone, though she is watching her son from the corner of her eye, waiting on his reaction. He shakes his head, but a small laugh escapes his throat. After all, Eames's mother is the person from whom he inherited such a deeply rooted dramatic streak. It is not as though he can fault her for trying, either.

"You're good," he says. "Oh, yes, you're _good_, indeed. I applaud you for your valiant effort. And, yes, you will hopefully have grandchildren one day. I want kids, eventually. I'm just not going to rush Arthur until he is ready. I can't risk losing him, Mum."

The woman leans back in her chair and her lips curve into a smile as she stares at her son.

"What?" he asks after a few moments' silence.

"Who'd have thought that an Eames would be so easily tamed?"

"Well, I'm hardly _tamed_, Mother," he says with false offense. His smile tells the real story, though.

* * *

"The real story, though, is the one I've already told you, Mom," Arthur insists. They have moved on from Arthur's reluctance to be open and are now discussing Arthur's relationship outright. His mother has missed so much, and it feels good not only to fill her in, but also to talk to her in general. For some reason, though, Karen thinks that Arthur would never have the courage to ask Eames out first. Of course, this is likely because Arthur himself can still hardly believe it, even now. The words came seemingly out of nowhere, and Arthur was powerless to stop them, not that he really wanted to.

"Alright, alright," she says finally, throwing her hands up in the air.

"What? Why is it so difficult to believe that I would initiate our first… _meeting_?" he finishes hesitantly.

"Arthur Daniel Sims," she says, laughing and shaking her head, "Call it what it is, for goodness sakes!"

She shifts in her chair and smoothes out the wrinkles in the light blue dress she is wearing. It is a bit outdated, but it is the dress that Arthur knows and loves best. He has kneaded every inch of that dress between adolescent fingers for as long as he can remember, and is willing to bet that it would feel the same still, even after all this time. It seems to fit her just the same as it always has.

"Well, I'm not calling it a date, if that is what you're getting at. I'm… just… no. It was beer from my refrigerator and soccer on my flat-screen. My TV," he clarifies quickly. "Nothing fancy," he says, making a point to leave out the bit about the drunken groping and Eames being kicked out shortly thereafter. Still, she laughs.

"Well, it sounds lovely, Arthur. Sean sounds lovely. I wish I could meet him."

"Mom," Arthur begins, his voice sad.

"No, no. I know." She waves him away with a hand through the air. "Anyway…. I take your lack of objection to my earlier words to mean that you'll stop being so rational with _certain aspects _of your life?"

"Yeah, yeah," Arthur grins.

"I'm serious. Life's too short to do anything but what you truly feel is right, Arthur. It isn't as though time seems to slow down the older you get. In fact, just the opposite is true. One day, you'll look back at everything you've done. Don't leave room for regret, my son."

Ignoring the small lump in his throat, Arthur quietly says, "Thank you, Mom. I love you."

"Anytime," she promises with a smile. Then, she stands and begins to walk to the kitchen.

"More coffee?" she pauses and asks, even though his cup is still only half-empty. And, as it does every time they meet, Arthur hears the kick music begin to play in the background as soon as she is done speaking. No matter how long they talk, time passes in strange lurches and lulls, their time together coming to an end at the same time, always.

"I can't, Mom. I have to go."

"Always so soon," she sighs. She walks to him and embraces him tightly, her arms unchanged, ignorant of the many years that should have passed for her. He wraps his long arms around Karen's thin frame and lets his chin rest atop her head for a moment before leaning down. He presses a kiss to the cheek of his most beloved projection and then takes a step back to look at her.

"I know," he whispers softly. Then, he wakes up.

* * *

Eames walks down the hallway of his childhood home, stopping at the door of the guest room that holds his belongings, a room he was never allowed in as a child. As he stops to knock upon the cream-colored door, he cannot help but feel some odd sort of accomplishment at being allowed here now. The feeling quickly fades when he hears rustling beyond the door, which he takes to mean that Arthur is up, and so he opens it carefully.

"You know, Arthur, this sleeping late business is ridiculous. I know we did not arrive until three this morning, but my mother is absolutely chomping at the bit to meet you. You've never been jetlagged be-" Eames stops short as the door opens completely. He sees a fully dressed Arthur fumbling with the PASIV device on the bed, likely attempting to hide it, and he suddenly understands everything.

"Oh, darling," is all Eames can manage. He has no words of condemnation for the man, although he is worried, as he always is when Arthur goes under outside of work. This habit cannot be healthy. At the same time, though, it cannot be condemned.

Arthur simply looks at Eames, the sadness in his eyes evident. Eames walks over to him and pulls him close, places a hand at the back of Arthur's head and strokes the hair there soothingly.

"I know you miss her, pet," he whispers into the man's ear.

"You have no idea," Arthur sighs, allowing himself to be completely open. The times with his mother always leave him feeling painfully vulnerable.

"No. No, I do not. But, I do know that you hurt, Arthur. And I know that any time you get to spend with her is very valuable. But, I also know that that is not your mother in there. Not quite." Arthur takes a small step back and looks into Eames's eyes. The forger places one hand against Arthur's face and neck and another at the man's waist as he says, "And I won't let you get caught up in that. I refuse."

Arthur brings his left hand up to rest against Eames's right hand, and he leans into the touch.

"I know, Sean. I know."

Eames pulls Arthur's head down and presses a kiss to the man's forehead. Arthur smiles, his dimples deepening and eyes crinkling, and when he moves his hand from near his face to hang at his side, he takes Eames's hand with it.

"We're going to be alright, darling," Eames says as he pulls Arthur into the hallway and towards the room where Claire Eames awaits them both.

"I know, Sean. I know."

Arthur takes a deep breath and fingers the light blue tie around his neck. The familiar fabric of his mother's dress feels just as he remembers, even if there is much less fabric than before. He shuts the door behind them, steps into the hallway, and smiles.

* * *

**A/N:  
****- **Thoughts? :) Do tell, dear reader. Seriously, I'm a review whore. So, sue me. But, review first. ;)

**Recommendations [Pt. II]... again, **_**must-reads**_. :)  
- Voldemort's Spawn:  
- **Burned (A/E) **_(also: "Snuggles"__** various pairings)  
**_- OneWhoSitsWithTheTurtles:  
- **Smile (A/E)  
**- Chenoweth-in-space:  
- **Snap!** [LMFAO alert] (**A/E**, but features whole team)  
- Rat-chan:  
- **The Lights, the TV , and the Radio (A/E)  
**- AlmightySempai:  
- **Any Colour You Like (A/E)  
**- i am a bee:  
- **Lolita **(wet dream alert, JGL fangirls) **(A/E)  
**- Empty With You:  
- **Lists (A/E)  
**- thereisafire:  
- **Firestarter (A/everybody)** [Or, as the author says, **Arthur/sociopathy**. Dark, but great.]  
- WalkingInDarkness737:  
- **Leap of Faith (A/E)  
**- Jeanne Marie:  
- **I Talk of Dreams**; **When the Hurlyburly's Done**; **Small Cheer and Great Welcome**; **Nor a Lender Be** (all part of The Shakespeare Series). **(A/E)**


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